"But why?" protested her companion mildly. "Surely you see that the situation demands it. The stage is all set. I'll admit we shall have a moon coming back, but Judge Trent's hat may eclipse it."
"I have given up the stage," replied Sylvia.
"Never mind. You can still be an amateur. You can't be a summer girl without accepting her responsibilities."
"I'm not a summer girl. I just told you I'm a bee, and not a butterfly."
"But even bees are keen for the flowers of life. You're not a thrifty bee unless you investigate and see how much honey you can get out of me."
Sylvia laughed reluctantly. "No wonder Edna calls you a shy flower," she replied. Her heart had a sudden pang of remembrance. "How beautiful Edna is," she said, meeting her companion's lazy eyes.
"Yes. You say she sings well?"
"Enchantingly."
"Does she sing Schubert?"
"Ye-yes. I think he is the one, isn't he, who wrote 'Death and the Maiden'? She sang that Sunday morning before we went down in the woods. How long ago it seems!" Sylvia spoke wistfully and looked away, and again a mist stole across her vision.